


Sweet (S)talker

by MistyDeath



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Training, Body Modification, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, H/D Food Fair 2018, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Oral Fixation, Possible Dubious Consent, Post-Hogwarts, Restraints, Rimming, Snowballing, Sugar Quills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-07 12:05:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15907935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyDeath/pseuds/MistyDeath
Summary: Merlin, he’d stalked the asshole for almost a year, you think Harry would have noticed him tongue fucking sugar quills on the daily!





	Sweet (S)talker

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[73](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1E_uQJlIb5C6nLnMg8VrUUnrKtyx16is1FLbyvoxLEik/edit).
> 
> A million thanks to K for being an amazing beta and pushing me to give it my all.  
> This fic was a blast to write and I'm pumped for everyone to read it!

 

Malfoy had an oral fixation. He just had to have one. There wasn’t any other way that Harry could explain what made Malfoy do the things he did.

Throughout their time at Hogwarts, Harry vaguely remembered Malfoy’s sweet tooth. Or rather, Harry remembered the ridiculous show he put on at every parcel he got in the morning mail. It was always something expensive. Or a ridiculous amount of something popular. Or something rare, or exclusive, etc., etc.

Harry did not, however, remember the vigorous fascination Malfoy had with sugar quills. As he watched the man delicately decimate the sweet while walking through Diagon Alley, Harry couldn’t imagine why. Merlin, he’d stalked the asshole for almost a year, you think Harry would have noticed him tongue-fucking sugar quills on the daily!

 

* * *

 

Harry almost hadn’t noticed it the first time around when he’d joined Ron and Hermione during their Christmas shopping. Hermione had pulled out a book to show Harry from Flourish and Blotts and Harry had immediately protested. “Hermione, while I’m sure that any book titled _Misused Magical Methods_ would be _positively thrilling_ to read in my spare time - y’know, that I don’t have -” Hermione snapped the book shut.

“Honestly, Harry - have you touched a book since you started training?”

Harry snorted. “I think the better question is, ‘Have you touched a book since _Hogwarts_?’”

“Exactly. I already bought Christmas gifts for the two of you, so if _you_ would be so kind as to tell _me_ if you think it would help in _my_ own pursuit to understand what you two do at work,” Hermione said, a condescending smile gracing her lips, “that’d be great.”

He hadn’t the faintest if it would actually help, but Harry took it from her and flipped through it a bit before deciding it wasn’t a total loss. There was a detailed, if slightly disturbing, anatomical diagram per incident that changed to show the effects on the human body. Harry looked up from grimacing at the misuse of _Reparo_ and gave a weak affirmative nod. She beamed at him and took it. “Do you really want to read about things we complain about on the daily?”

“You might think that’s funny, but the two of you really worry me and you’re not even Aurors yet, let alone out in the field!” She frowned and moved down the aisle, clearly searching for herself this time if the titles were anything to go by. At least, Harry hoped she didn’t think he was interested in the apparent hundred volumes containing the trial documents of _Wizengamot v. Creneberry III._ “Hermione, we were in more danger during one week at school than I’ve been in the entire six months of training!”

She scoffed and changed the subject. “What have you done, then, outside of training and the occasional night out with us?”

“Hermione, we live in the same house - you know what I’m doing almost as well as I do,” he pointed out. “Besides, fixing up Grimmauld on the weekends is a better hobby than going out drinking all the time, don’t you think?”

Harry truly had. Whether it had been from Hermione’s determination not to let any of them lapse into a depressive state or his own need to not hate his own home, Harry had started renovating the place. Or, really, continued the excavation Molly Weasley had started.  He had made more than his fair share of profits off items that _hadn’t_ had to be destroyed due to Dark Magic. Even if his childhood had been non-stop dredging housework, Harry was proud to say that he now knew a ton of domestic charms. It was his house, after all - now he could do whatever he wanted with it, and everything inside of it!

“I mean outside of that - _not that I’m saying it isn’t great -_ you’ve made a lot of improvements - ” Hermione suddenly pulled them to the side, avoiding a string of what could’ve been third-years running towards the back. “ _Honestly_ -” she sighed, “- where was I - right! So, have you,”  she paused, and made a gesture that Harry had come to loathe, “talked to anyone else since Ginny and you - y’know -”

“Had a row, split up, and made everything so awkward during the last holiday, even Fleur wanted to intervene? No, Hermione, I haven’t - fancy that.” She looked disappointed, and after watching her flit through the book in her hands for a minute, Harry realized that maybe she’d thought he was interested in someone. That was news.  “Why? Am I missing something here - do I need to know - ”

“No! No, you - I haven’t - ” she waved him away, and they moved towards the till with whatever book she’d picked up. “I was hoping that you had, and maybe I’d fallen behind on - ” they fell in line with the crowd, and Harry nodded at whatever she mentioned, despite not having heard a word of it.

For a bookstore, Flourish and Blotts was certainly louder than what he’d consider average - although he could really only compare to Muggle ones. Harry could, however, tell when Hermione was focusing in on a subject that was dire for him to listen to. And, from what he he could catch, Harry wasn’t dreadfully concerned.

Hermione always meant well, and more often than not, hit his problems dead on. But Harry knew that if he hadn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of understanding his newfound sexuality, she didn’t. Especially since no one knew. Harry considered this fact and looked at Hermione, trying to figure out if she might.

She had asked him if he wanted a date with one of her coworkers, Adrienne, because she was quite lovely, and not the type to prattle on about something forever - “That’s great, Hermione. Positively great - and I’m sure she _is quite lovely_ however - ” she held up her hand.

“Honestly, Harry - I’ve been on your side from the getgo with Ginny - I haven’t - ” 

Harry had stopped listening to her; however, while she faced the cashier, he had seen Draco Malfoy walk into the store. And while Malfoy had lost the air of thinking the world was beneath him, he still managed to stand out in a crowd. The loose knot of blonde hair was only made more obvious by the slim black clothes that Malfoy donned. Harry watched as Malfoy talked to a friend of his - Nott, possibly. Malfoy was going on about something animatedly, and his friend was clearly just letting him rant. A few moments later, something in the rant had clearly changed, because it looked like Nott was becoming more annoyed by the second.

Seeing that Nott was one of the few figures taller than Malfoy, the look on his face was worrying. Slightly intimidating, even by Harry’s standards. Which was how he justified his own hand creeping towards his wand. Harry noticed the brilliant purple sugar quill just before it was popped into Malfoy’s mouth by Nott, silencing him instantly.

Malfoy nearly gagged, but composed himself as well as one could with a large lollipop stuck in one’s mouth. He glared at Nott, and then schooled his face into one of - well Harry didn’t know what. And then Harry almost stopped breathing at the look that appeared on Malfoy’s face when he openly mimicked fellatio on the quill.

Nott had seen enough and went up to the second floor without another glance. Malfoy stayed there, quill sucked in between his lips as his tongue _did things_ to it. He was practically fucking it. In a bookstore. Where anyone could see. Where _Harry_ saw - and promptly lost all focus on anything important.

His pointer finger carefree and nonchalant as it stroked a variety of book spines in succession, Malfoy laved the sugar quill with his tongue, cheeks hollowing as he sucked the sweet, and then let it dangle carelessly from his lips as if holding it in was too much of an effort.  Harry could’ve watched Malfoy for the entirety of the Crenebery case files if he kept that up. With all the time he spent with Hermione and Ron in the library, Harry never would’ve thought book stroking to be sexual. And yet, when combined with even the slightest reflection of wetness on his -

Harry jumped a mile when he felt someone’s hand touch his arm.

“Harry? Harry - _Harry James Potter will you move your deadweight self towards the door already!_ ”

By the time he remembered where he was, Hermione had shuffled him almost out the door, and had thumped him hard with her purchase in the shoulder. Harry stepped outside to the side window, where surprisingly enough, he could still see Malfoy. He stared a bit longer, watching as the man fiddled the quill in his mouth absentmindedly while turning a book over.

It struck him with such a sense of deja vu that he felt a chill run down his spine. Malfoy made a move as if to turn around, and not a second later Harry had dashed down the street towards Hermione.

“Sorry, Hermione, I really am - I just - ”

“Got distracted. Again.” Hermione smiled fondly, but Harry couldn’t help but wonder if she’d noticed. Knowing her, she’d probably already figured out.

“Then you won’t mind making it up to me by taking Adrienne out.” Or maybe not.

 

* * *

 

The next quill incident had been almost a year later. Because while Harry did see Malfoy on the offhand - whether at the Ministry, at a charity event he’d begrudgingly gone to, or just around someone’s house - he’d yet to see Malfoy with a sugar quill again.

Harry and Ron had just finished up an exam for Auror training and were standing outside the Ministry watching the crowd ebb and flow.

“It never gets old, having your tongue literally walk out of your mouth if you mention anything even _resembling_ the tests after the fact,” Ron cried. Harry nodded, having picked up the habit of being silent for at least an hour after the exams. It was a gross feeling. It made him wish he could wash his mouth out with soap instead. He repressed a shudder.

“Do you feel like going to grab a bite?” Ron asked. “Don’t give me that look - it’ll give me something to think about besides this shit!”

“Alright, but I’m not going to be the one paying when your tongue dances all over the floor,” Harry relented.

“Fine with me - we can get something to go if it’ll bother you so much. Muggle, even.”

Harry had to remind him that a tongue popping off on the street would be a cause for alarm and possibly involve the police, rather than the hilarity that ensued when it happened in wizarding areas. It was a running gag - dear Merlin he _hated_ that pun - that the loser would buy a round for other Aurors if they witnessed it.

He was still creeped out by the young lady who had caught his the first time. She fucking _petted it_ . Like it was a _crup_. Ugh.

They decided to go into one of the new places that had opened in Diagon, _Tapestry Tapas._ Their changing menu was one of the main reasons Ron loved going there - a changing ancestry-tree gave the customer complimentary drinks and foods based off their main course. At first Hermione had been discouraged by the clear Pureblood inspiration for it, but she’d quickly become fascinated with the different connections and suggestions the menus provided. The conversation she’d struck up with the owner afterwards had convinced her it was only a creative measure.

Harry was happy to be distracted from the impending exam burnout. After making selections, his and Ron’s menus disappeared with a blink. He was tired already, and that brought up another reality of Auror work. “Once the MLE evaluates everything, you think you’d like to take the first round of junior assignments or- ?”

“I’d probably go for the second one,” Ron said. The first round of appetizers appeared, and he continued as they divided them up. “Might be easier for the transition between the store and all - and who wants to get up at the crack of dawn?” Harry nodded. He moved his glass to accommodate them, and noticed a flash of blonde hair after looking up. And with it, a neon pink sugar quill.

“What about you, mate? Y’never were the crazy type like Hermione - Harry?” Harry had once again lost it, and there he was, staring at Malfoy, sucking on a sugar quill. He figured it probably wouldn’t have been so bad, if he’d been exposed to it more often - _but the way he was moving his jaw to accommodate twirling the quill around - Merlin._

Ron threw something at him. A piece of bread. Harry started and looked back at his lunch companion.

“You know, other men might be jealous that you’re staring down Malfoy, but mate, I’m so used to it at this point - could you at least spare me the courtesy of _not_  looking like you want to eat him?” Harry felt ice running through his veins.

Ron threw another crumb at him. Harry looked down at it, and, as he became more aware of the eyes watching them, back up at Ron, “What are you, five?”

“What are you, sixteen?” For someone who’d been insurmountably oblivious to the affections of his current fiance of four years, Harry would’ve thought Ron was the one he could relax around. “I’m going to be married in a few months, mate, I’ve learned a few things,” Harry didn’t want to think about that. Any of that.  

So Harry did what he knew best when it came to his emotions - he threw any thought of mentioning them out the window.

“ _The Transfiguration Article 17.b of 1827 -”_ with a sharp, immediate pressure coming from the back of his throat - his tongue popped off, bouncing slightly before it rolled its way off the table and disappeared.  

Ron gaped at him for a full two minutes, looking between the whispering patrons and Harry before attacking him in a low whisper.

“You’re a right dramatic shit - you know that? And besides,” Ron pointed towards where the tongue was heading with his right finger while the left hand blocked it from the restaurant’s view, “that might’ve just made it worse.”

Frozen, Harry watched in horror as his tongue resurfaced and hopped its way towards Malfoy’s corner of the restaurant. The loose tongues, they just popped off to prevent the trainee from revealing exam details -  there wasn’t any connection to the owner of said tongue. Right?

Their food appeared not moments later, and Ron had to dig into him _again_ , making a show (as if Ron actually had table manners) of eating his tapas while Harry’s mouth was jinxed shut. The tasty looking chorizo bits were taunting him, _dammit_. And now he’d lost sight of his tongue - great, just great.

 

\---

 

Something warm pressed against his ankle. Draco kicked it away, convinced someone’s butter roll had gotten away from them.   

He was bit bored, really. The restaurant Pansy had chosen was more than appropriate for a nice lunch, but _dear Merlin_ , the woman was outright aggravating with the way she took seven years to explain one simple story point. Every second recalled was a connection to some story that hadn’t even happened on the same continent. Draco wondered if this was her way of venting, but decided that talking for roughly thirty minutes in response to, “So how’s the job been?” when he’d gotten an update not two days ago _on the exact same topic_ was a peculiar trait she’d developed.

Draco wasn’t really listening, and if he’d paid attention he’d realize that Pansy wasn’t really talking to him. No. She was really listing all the ways her friends had let her down, Draco himself very much included in at least two of the stories, and how they were going to get what was coming to them. But that damn butter roll was back again - Malfoy shifted his foot, and the sensation went away momentarily. However, not a second later, the tickle was back, except now it was wet and - _it was moving up his pant leg_ . “ _Fucking hELL!_ ”

Pansy watched as her friend kicked his leg out and stared at the floor in fear. It turned to rage, however, as he leaned down and came up with what she quickly recognized as a tongue. Circe help her that she’d become used to this.

“Oh dear, Draco,” she cooed, hand running the rim of her wine glass, “did some Auror trainee manage to lick your ankle?” He glared, and Pansy brought a wineglass to her lips with a shrug. “Whose d’you think it is?”

The tongue in question seemed far too happy in his hand - it had cuddled up to his thumb. Draco supposed he should be happy that whatever jinx the Ministry had come up with didn’t involve saliva. “I don’t know, Pansy, but that shouldn’t be too hard to figure out - ” he’d only looked around for a moment around the restaurant hall when he made eye contact with Weasley. He raised the tongue in question and watched as Weasley sighed and hid his face in his hands.

Well, Weasley still had a tongue so - _oh_. Potter was sitting across from Weasley, looking quite concerned at his friend’s reaction, _unable to respond with a spelled shut mouth._ _Oh this was golden._ He heard Pansy in the background hissing at him to not make a scene as he made his way to their table in the back.

“Potter, I believe this belongs _to you_ ,” he dropped the tongue on Potter’s plate. Draco took great pride in the apparent level of mortification he was causing Potter, so he leaned in and whispered, “Most people don’t use tongue until after the first date, but I guess you’re just the exception to everything, now, aren’t you? ‘Ta,” and went back to his table.

 

\---

 

Harry considered it a sign of the strength of their friendship that Ron only waved for the cheque in response. He never mentioned it after, either, but it might’ve been more than coincidence that Ron bought sugar quills so much. Harry only had to buy a round on the way back home, which, lucky for him, only meant one drink.

 

* * *

 

After the tongue incident, Harry decided he needed a breather and began to actively avoid places he knew Malfoy frequented. It appeared to work.

However, Hermione’s match-making skills had the subtlety of an Erumpent in a tea shop. Maybe in the first couple of dates he’d tried to convince himself that he could be bisexual, but it just wasn’t happening and unfortunately for his last date, Harry’s frustration had gotten the better of him. With a terse word that reduced a beautiful blonde woman to almost tears, Harry had left, his body eager to go home and just relax.

The renovations at Grimmauld had finally finished for the better, and the parties they held in the undeniable warmth of his newly expanded sitting area were becoming commonplace. So, it was with only the slightest surprise that Harry walked in to have _a_ _packet of sugar quills shot at his face_.

Feeling properly called out, Harry held onto the packet and entered the sitting room to see Ron, Seamus, Dean, Ginny, Luna, Neville, and Hermione in the throws of a rousing game of poker. Harry collected himself for a second before he threw his things to the mud room and saddled himself alongside Luna, quills held up in question. “What are these for?”

“That’s your bet, mate,” Seamus answered for her, “we’ll deal you in the next round.” Noting the sudden silence that overtook the group, Harry saw a variety of sweets thrown in the middle of the table. Chocolate frogs, beans, liquorice wands, skeletals, and a variety of gummies were piled upon one another. A fond rush of affection came over him. They all had their jobs, and their family lives, and yet this group of fools he called friends had come to his place and play cards with sweets dealt in like they were back in third year.

He watched with barely hidden glee as Luna swept everyone that round. “I told you that you should’ve bet less, Ginny,” she mused. The woman in question flipped her two fingers, clearly angry at the loss of a considerable amount of liquorice. Harry briefly wondered if she’d let Luna win, because, historically, Ginny was the poker shark.

Harry turned to Ron as Seamus dealt him in. “Any reason in particular I’ve got sugar quills?” Ginny kicked him lightly before Ron could respond. “We were out shopping, looking for everyone’s favorites to deal and since you weren’t there, Ron said these were yours.” The wanker just smiled at him and hid behind his hand. Harry dedicated his best efforts to thrashing the traitor.

Luna swept them all again, taking the solitary quill that Harry had bet before popping it into her mouth. “Oooh - dese ere the evwalahstin’ kind,” she hummed happily. To Harry’s horror and the group’s increasingly recognized awareness, Luna kept sucking on it for the next three rounds. Normally Harry would not have paid attention but for some reason the shock of blonde hair kept him on edge.

“Love, could you please stop it with the quill? It’ll be there in the morning - everlasting, right?” Neville patted Luna on the shoulder. “Besides just eating pure sugar all night can’t be good.” When Luna deliberately slurped the now-neon green quill out of her mouth, Harry saw it was still...rather solid. Nothing like what happened to - Harry sucked in a hiss of air, _that fucking bastard_.

“I’m only doing what Ron told me to do,” she stated in a voice Harry used to recognize as carelessly blunt and now saw for a ploy. Harry’s coloring didn’t even come close to the collective flush that ran through the group - Neville had turned an impressive shade of red in barely contained rage. Dean had a hand already on the back of Ron’s head. “Ron - really, I might’ve expected something like that from Seamus - ” “Hey! Who the hell are you - ”

“I agreed, don’t worry.” It was a miracle Harry didn’t flee from the room.

Hermione coughed. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“It’s quite fun to experiment with things,” is all she said. “Did it work, Ron?” Ron shrugged and dodged the ensuing rain of sweets and various items from Harry’s living room. “You utter _birk_ !” Hermione huffed. “What, I figured Harry might want some cheering up after your terrible decision to send him on a date with _a reporter_!”

Harry had a word with Ron after, when the rest had settled into the guest beds and Hermione had gone upstairs.  “Keep your experiments to the bedroom, yeah?” In the light of the blue ceiling lights in Grimmauld, Ron grinned. “Can’t give out house rules you can’t follow, mate.”

He took great satisfaction in smacking his ginger head into the portrait of some Black ancestor before retiring to his bedroom. Harry shut his door, worried for all of five seconds that Ron had seen him carry his sweet winnings with him. Bugger Ron and his experiments. Harry wanted to have some peace in his own home.

Harry absolutely did not fantasize about Malfoy sucking on a sugar quill for hours. He didn’t stick one in his mouth, nor did he suck in a hard breath at every sharp flavour change while he wanked. Harry definitely didn’t groan at the necessary loss of its weight in his mouth when he was done and his heavy pants faded to deep breaths. _EVERLASTING, FLAVOUR-CHANGING FUN!_ The package mocked him in a glittery font from his bedside. Harry bolted to his bathroom to scrub every last sugar crystal from his mouth and resolutely ignored the flushed face he saw in the mirror.

 

* * *

 

These incidents were how Harry found himself trailing after Malfoy and Parkinson underneath his Invisibility Cloak in Diagon Alley.

“Honestly, Draco, why on Earth are you always sticking one of those things in your mouth?” Pansy Parkinson, for all that she seemed to annoy him, was consistently by Malfoy’s side. “It’s near the negatives and you actually want to risk getting your tongue stuck to one of those things?” She was bundled up in a thin cloak over an outfit she clearly needed to show off, a bag in her hand.

It was rather sardonic. Where Parkinson was dressed to the nines in black and evergreen, he managed to appear a parody of a Muggle magician wearing inanely bright colors. Malfoy was wearing a royal blue cloak, pinned at the neck but otherwise open, showing candy-cane stripes and an alternating shock of purple in the hood on the in-seam. An emerald scarf hung around his neck and shielded yet another part of his body from Harry’s wandering eyes. Harry considered himself lucky Malfoy had a simple grey suit underneath, heaven forbid he wear anything more alluring, and with a blush, flicked his eyes back up to Malfoy’s mouth.

Malfoy hummed, moving the quill in his mouth to the side so he could talk. “Ish sweet, it always melts, Pansy, dere really isn’t any harm to it.”

“You look like a fucking child, Draco,” she huffed. Harry had to disagree. What Malfoy was doing to the sugar quill was very, _very_ adult.

“Merlin forbid I appear childish instead of looking like the ickle Death Eater I am, Pansy. It just won’t do,” he teased.

Although, if Harry had to pinpoint it - what Malfoy did to those sugar quills wasn’t fucking. No. Not with the amount of time dedicated to each one. Harry had determined that it was next level love-making being done to a sugar quill. It didn’t matter if they were Everlasting - each suck lit up something in Malfoy’s eyes. And the thrill of being underneath his Invisibility Cloak and being able to watch it happen - there just weren’t words.

It started with Malfoy’s hand feeling up the quill around the wrapper. And then it was gone, the tip slipped just ever so slightly into the slit between Malfoy’s lips. That was the beginning of the end for Harry’s mind. Possibly his sex life. And foreseeable understanding of a healthy relationship with one’s sweets. Malfoy would press each succeeding sugar vein just as delicately in his mouth as before, teeth holding it in place as he sucked it down a level. He would press kitten-like laps at the quill until it melted. Occasionally his tongue would slip out to chase the taste around his lips, and Harry’s heart would start the palpitations all over again.

Harry strolled alongside them at a distance, avoiding the crowd, carefully stepping only where others had gone before him. Briefly, Harry wondered how weird it would be if he sent Malfoy sugar quills. Anonymously, of course. Then Harry realized that if _he_ usually threw away any food sent to him, Malfoy probably did the same. Besides, after the tongue incident, Harry wasn’t ready to out himself so carelessly if Malfoy somehow figured it out.

Suddenly, Malfoy’s head went up as if he heard something and he turned to face Harry. Harry thought there were too many people here for Malfoy to have heard him, but Malfoy stared at the spot where Harry stood. “C’mon, Draco, it’s freezing outside - let’s just get to Eyelops before it closes,” Parkinson urged. Harry watched as Malfoy was pulled away by Parkinson, his face melting into a grin as he sucked in a portion of the quill. _Fuck_. Harry had a serious problem.

 

\---

 

“Didn’t I teach you not to eavesdrop, Potter? Or was my foot in your face not enough of a motivating factor?”

_Shit. Shit shit shit bollocking mother fuck._

Harry didn’t move, hoping that Malfoy would think he was being paranoid. He didn’t take in account that Malfoy currently gave no fucks about any societal perceptions. The fist to this stomach said as much. It had to look weird, Harry thought, seeing a man punch the air and then watching as a war hero, or in this case a stalking psychopath, appeared out of thin air. Even for a magical society.

“Hello - Malfoy,” he wheezed out. How one could look so bored in this situation, Harry would never know. “Fancy meeting you here,” he cleared some snow off his shin from where he’d slipped, “would you care for a drink in place of an apology?”

With his arm disappearing into thin air and a quill hanging from his mouth, Malfoy looked insane. “Why not,” he paused and shifted the quill around in his mouth with his tongue, angling it in a manner that made it look like something was prodding painfully at his cheek.

Harry’s mind blanked. “I sure would like to know why you’re stalking me. Again,” Draco emphasized. Harry had the decency to blush. It might’ve been the quill. Or Malfoy’s tongue. Either way, they weren’t better sounding excuses than thinking his old arch nemesis had been up to something. Again.

An hour and two pints later, the pair sat at a booth in the back of the Hog’s Head. There weren’t too many people around, the post-holiday season having paused the crowds. Which Harry thought was incredibly convenient. Malfoy found this amusing and leaned back into the booth with a smile, apparently feeling more at ease than Harry thought.

“You know, if you were looking for privacy I think you’d be better off with this thing,” Malfoy pointed out. He held out the cloak, fingers thumbing the material absentmindedly.

Harry was staring morosely at the chewed up lolly stick by Malfoy’s hands. “Well, you noticed, didn’t you,” he said. Malfoy clucked his tongue and pushed the cloak back to Harry, who slipped it away.

“You might have come back from the dead Potter, but that doesn’t make you silent. I’ve heard you run all over the place with this thing. It’s an Invisibility Cloak, not a silencing one, you egotistical stalking shit. Besides, you would think that the ‘Chosen One’ would be used to the stares.” He sipped from his pint, and while Harry was tempted to stare at Malfoy’s mouth, he didn’t want to prove the prat to be true.

“Well, you _would_ think that... given that you’ve always been the one to watch out for anything I did just to take advantage of it somehow,” Harry pointed out.

“I’m not watching out for you, now, Potter. Although maybe I should, given the fact that your _loose_ _tongue_ molested me in one of Diagon’s finest.” Malfoy had gone and done it again. And even though he’d just mentioned it, for a second Harry had forgotten who he was talking to.

“I’m not one of your fangirls, Potter.” Malfoy was worse, in Harry’s opinion, and had always been worse. They both knew it, even if Malfoy seemed to have left the theatrics behind at Hogwarts. Even if he’d used the most asinine qualities about Harry to complain about - the fact that he noticed them at all was a sign of… _something_.

“So if you’re _noticing_ me _not watching_ you,” Malfoy continued, “would you at least care to tell me why you’re doing it? I’m not doing anything illegal.” His mouth pinched, lips set into a thin line. “I’ve been doing nothing but good things, catering to the masses - you know,” he gave an encompassing wave, “selling Potions to those without other means of getting them.”

At that, Harry looked up and pointed a finger at Malfoy. “There you go again.”

Malfoy dropped his hands to the table. “What?”

“Trying to grandois your way out of something - Malfoy, I’m an Auror. You’re an ex-Death Eater. Everything you’ve done for the last three years is in your file. You work at a Potions clinic - don’t try to make it sound sinister. You’re above that.” Malfoy lost the blasé look.

“Don’t assume to know shit about me, and stop staring at me like I’ve killed your Crup, Potter.” Harry frowned. “Don’t give me _that_ look.  You’ve shot me that horrified face for the last two years, Potter. I believe it was you that told me, quote, ‘You could at least settle for ignoring me or being fucking neutral’, end quote. Fucking hypocrite.”

He really, really wanted to sigh. Even as Malfoy said it, he looked like he questioned himself. That was when Harry told himself that was it - two years was more than enough. He pushed himself back to the seat and slid out to stand next to Malfoy’s side of the booth.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t be so horrified, if you’d just stop _tongue fucking your sugar quills in public_. In fact,” he lowered his voice more, deliberately staring at Malfoy’s mouth, “I’m pretty sure I’m feeling quite the opposite. I might even say,” he drummed his fingers on the table, tapping the very edge of Malfoy’s hand, “what you’re doing to those sweets is downright illegal. Now, are you going to make a scene, or are you going to come quietly?” Malfoy dropped the quill stick, and stood up against the booth, forcing Harry to step back.

Malfoy’s face had the same look he’d had in the bookstore two years ago. _Shit_. It was intense - and where Harry had never felt the need to back down from a challenge, he wasn’t sure what he’d get in return. Watching Malfoy’s face seemed to drag on forever, Harry’s eyes looking anywhere but the silver ones staring at him like he was a particularly curious puzzle. Since when had this emotional nutcase become this calm? Harry had to look away again, this time at the coaster next to their hands. Some fancy faded vodka label - it might’ve been Russian, he didn’t know.

“Well, Potter,” Malfoy emphasized each word he said with a finger tap to the table, _Merlin his fingers were long_ . “I think,” _tap_ , _tap,_ “that this conversation,” _tap, tap, tap, tap, tap,_  “constitutes a change in scenery, don’t you?” _Fuck_.

Harry had slipped the _Incarcerous_ ropes between his fingers and pressed a hand against Malfoy’s back before he’d dared to look up. “I think we should get going,” he whispered to his ear, “before you say something that you regret.” Malfoy’s lips crooked up ever so slightly, and he shifted to get comfortable against Harry, coat flaring slightly. Harry then lifted his scarf from around Malfoy’s neck and wrapped it loosely around his restrained hands in an appearance of being cold.

Thankfully there weren’t many patrons at the Three Broomsticks, so they left without being noticed. They Side-Along’d to Grimmauld, where Harry hoped the decision didn’t end with someone puking.

 

\---

 

No one vomited. Although, from the face Malfoy pulled at the entryway, it was a near miss.

“Is your home always this abysmal?” So it hadn’t been the alcohol. It was the decor - charming to know not even the most pureblood wizard he knew considered Grimmauld standard housing.

“I have to work with what I’m given, Malfoy,” he jibed, “not my fault your family has shit taste.”

Harry ignored the look on Malfoy’s face that might’ve said too much, and pushed him towards the stairs. Walking behind a handcuffed man wasn’t easy. The tips of Malfoy’s fingers jostled against Harry’s hands with every movement, and proved to be a bigger distraction than the quill from earlier.

Harry decided that might have to be investigated later on. “Right, well, Potter, whatever weird Auror fetish this is fulfilling for you, I really hope you enjoy it.”

He started. “What?”

Malfoy paused at the first floor flat, and gave him a look. “You,” he said, “have handcuffed me,” he pulled on the magical ropes, “and brought me to your home - instead of the Ministry or some secret interrogation room.” His coat was a bit lopsided, nearly falling off to the side, and getting in the way of their progress up the stairs. Malfoy managed to look even crazier earlier, but now, in the dimly lit hallway of a house only Harry truly knew the way around, he looked positively delicious.

“Sorry,” he wasn’t sorry at all, “the pint, the banter - the quill in your mouth earlier must have thrown me off my rhythm.” Was he flirting? Was he serious? Either way, the coat was a problem. “Do you like this, Malfoy?” He slipped his hand under a bunched up sleeve, thumb and forefinger stroking the material while the rest of his fingers rapped backwards against Malfoy’s wrist.

Malfoy made a noncommittal noise.

“If you do like it, I suppose we could - ” he pulled the back of it down until it covered his own hand holding the shackles together, “- just slip it off instead of Vanishing it.” He let the coat slide to the floor and transferred the _Incarcerous_ up a tad on Malfoy’s arms.

His guest let out a huff and tested the restraints. “You’ve made them looser.”

“They’re only higher up, but don’t worry,” Harry moved them back to their original place, “they’re flexible.”

 Malfoy hissed through his teeth, “Just get on with it, Potter.”

Harry laughed, and guided Malfoy upstairs towards a spare room on the second floor. From what he remembered, it had been the first of five that had gone through the reno.

 

\---

Unbeknownst to Harry and Malfoy, Hermione and Ron were in the sitting room, not ten feet away from where all of this had happened. They even had a front row view. Harry had expanded the sitting room entryway to lessen some of the claustrophobia, so they watched in silence as the pair disappeared into the house. Hermione and Ron sat in shock, waiting for the blissful silence that closed doors often brought.

“Hermione,” Ron started, “did Harry just take Draco Malfoy up the stairs _while handcuffed_?” His voice croaked. “He didn’t even notice we were here!”

Hermione nodded. She grabbed her tea mug and began to sip from it deeply. After another moment, Hermione looked back at her husband. “It certainly explains a lot about the last few years’ of rejected blind dates.” Ron coughed. “I should’ve stopped with the quill jokes.”

 

\---

 

There were too many things going through his head. His brain had promptly decided to drain down into his cock. Malfoy’s mouth was hot. Harry knew it was going to be, after watching all the rivulets of sugar melt themselves out of existence on Malfoy’s tongue. Seeing Malfoy tap the very tip of his tongue to Harry’s cock before swallowing was going to stay in Harry’s mind forever.

“Fucking hell, Malfoy,” Harry said. “D’you think you could - “ he cut himself off when Malfoy did something ridiculous with his tongue. Harry spent the next few moments trying to figure out what was hotter: the feeling of Malfoy’s tongue, that he couldn’t see what the fuck was being done to his cock, or the knowing look he was getting from Malfoy during it.

Eventually Malfoy paused, and looked upwards with _that fucking tongue_ still pressed to the side of Harry’s dick. Malfoy’s mouth looked pleasantly stretched over his cock as his cheeks hollowed out once again, his tongue pulling back and wetting the underside of Harry’s shaft with a broad sweep. As Harry compared now and the lurid quill display in the bookstore - Harry couldn’t decide which was hotter - he was sympathising with the quill’s everlasting ability.  His hair was still in order, and _Merlin_ if he didn’t look like a higher-end prostitute. Malfoy pulled himself off and leaned back onto his heels. “Do you want to talk to me, Potter, or do you want me to suck you off?”

Harry looked down at him. “Well, if you were _actually sucking me off_ , then we could get somewhere.”

His expression changed from determined focus to scrutinizing. “Might I remind you that you’ve shackled me? I’m not looking to die choking on your dick, Potter.”

“Let’s try and keep death out of our conversation for once?” Harry knew that might be hopelessly optimistic between the two of them. The look he got in return was, well, _murderous_.

“There’s being ignorant, and then there’s being _you_ , Potter. Either get on with the banter and get this shit off my hands or _do please_ show me the way out.”

When Harry didn’t move as quickly as he expected, Malfoy got up and brought one boot down on Harry’s foot, hard.

“Merlin! Malfoy what the _fuck_ \- “

“Either. Untie. Me. Or. Get. Fucked.” _Get. Fucked. Really, that was all Harry was trying to make happen…_

“Why’d you have to go and be serious, shit - _ow_ \- calm your fucking head, I’m going, I’m going -” With a light tap to Malfoy’s wrists, Harry vanished the _Incarcerous_. Fully expecting to be punched, or have the other foot stamped on, he stepped back.

Regardless of the flush that had worked its way across his face and a mouth that clearly _had been doing things to Harry’s cock not moments before,_ Malfoy with free hands was dangerous. Like the prick he was, Malfoy took advantage of Harry’s lapse in thought and brought him over to the bed. Harry was then none-too-gently tipped backwards and had his mouth captured before the force of the push caught up with him.

Malfoy clearly didn’t care that he’d shoved his tongue down Harry’s throat minutes after going down on him. Harry, still painfully aware of the effects of Malfoy’s mouth, let it happen anyway. His cock was still jutting out of his pants, trousers still pulled down ever so slightly, trapping him under Malfoy.

Oh, how the tables had turned. Malfoy seemed fairly content as his hands groped both sides of Harry’s hair while Harry’s own sat at his bent knees. Malfoy tasted like a fucking sugar quill still, sugary sweet with a strange rush of alcohol between the two of them. He was going to give him a cavity.

What was wrong with Harry that he was thinking about Malfoy’s dental hygienics while this was going on?

He was left without the warmth of Malfoy’s mouth moments later. Malfoy pulled himself up and kneeled over Harry, thighs splayed on either side of him. He had the bored look on his face again. “Are you going to just lie there, Potter?”

“What?”

“Dear Circe,” he huffed. Malfoy then slid down and tugged at Harry’s clothes. “Would you fucking participate here? Or is this suddenly not doing it for you without the handcuffs?”

Harry bucked his hips up to meet Malfoy’s arse, cock sliding roughly against the back of his trousers. This was definitely still doing it for him - even if his brain wouldn’t let him rationalize it. “Sorry - got distracted. You’re quick, you know that?”

“Please tell me that wasn’t innuendo.”

“No, it wasn’t. You just surprised me - I’ll - “ Harry didn’t finish, just pushed Malfoy up a little so he could slide his own trousers and pants off, and threw Malfoy a expectant look before he settled back down on his elbows. Malfoy rolled his eyes so hard he fell alongside Harry, landing and stripping while muttering obscenities.

Harry’d not watched Malfoy for long when he was thrown back onto the mattress, his hands trapped against the pillows. “You’re going to fuck me.”

“I am?”

“Yes, you are, Potter - ” he quipped, mouth popping on the ‘P’. “It’s not like an Auror to lose control of a situation, now, is it?” Malfoy rolled his hips back, humming pleasantly when his arse was tapped by Harry’s leaking cock.

Harry immediately wriggled, bucking up in response. “No, I think not.”

It was when Malfoy’s face was turned away, arms stretching back for his wand, that Harry noticed his body. The man on top of him was fit; sculpted thighs braced Harry’s knees while his stomach was pulled taught at an appetizing angle. Harry couldn’t remember him doing any exercise outside of Quidditch training at school. He realized that Malfoy could be a bit of a jock now - maybe a runner, if his ass was anything to go by.

Malfoy lost his balance and tightened his hold around Harry, hand gripping for his knee with a muttered, “Fuck, sorry just -” and Harry was suddenly, painfully reminded of the last time he’d been that close to Malfoy. Harry briefly wondered if he’d ridden a broom since the fire.

The thought was lost after Harry moved a hand up towards his ass and groped Malfoy while the other stroked his length. Malfoy jerked in surprise and whipped his head back around. “Like something you see, Potter?” Harry bit back his automatic, “ _you wish_ ” with a groan.

Dying to get his hands on Malfoy’s ass, Harry flipped them over gently, carefully moving Draco around so as not to spill the lube he’d brought out. He nodded at the bottle. “Should I be concerned that you were so prepared?”

“Far be it from me to be caught without the ability to get properly fucked,” Malfoy quipped. “Although I daresay it must happen less frequently than your sordid affairs.”

“I’ll show you sordid affairs -” Harry moved his way down Malfoy’s body and gave him a taste of his own medicine by slowly taking his cock in his mouth- once down, twice, and just the bare hint of a third swallow. Malfoy thrust up weakly, chasing the sensation before Harry pulled off and settled back down, “I’m already more than familiar with your tongue’s penchant for going places it shouldn’t - ” Harry started to tease lubed fingers around Malfoy’s hole. “- _fuck_ , Potter what are you doing?”

He’d never done this before, but if this was the only night with Malfoy he got, Harry was going to go after everything. Harry’s fingers spread out and squeezed at the globes of Malfoy’s arse.

“Are you going to do something more than spread lube where it doesn’t need to go - Ah - _AH!_!” Harry had cast a wordless cleaning spell just a second before he pressed his mouth to Malfoy’s hole.

Harry lapped his tongue over his hole in an imitation of what he’d seen Malfoy do to the sugar quill and was pleasantly surprised both by Malfoy’s reaction and the strange aftertaste of Bertie Bott’s soap flavor in the lube. Encouraged by the punched out moans Malfoy let out, Harry pushed on. After what felt like hours of eating up everything Malfoy had to offer, Harry pulled the twitching pink hole open with his thumbs and thrust his tongue in, nearly suffocating at the knee-jerk reaction of Malfoy’s knees crushing his head.

Everything about this night was going to ruin him, and Harry hadn’t even fucked him. Malfoy didn’t seem to have any complaints, not by the way he whimpered and cried out when Harry alternated between a few fingers and his tongue. Harry particularly enjoyed the low throated growl that ripped itself out of Malfoy’s throat as Harry licked around his stretched out rim while he prodded at his prostate.

Even as he pushed back, trying to trap Harry’s willing mouth in between his calves and his arse, Harry heard Malfoy pant out something coherent.

Harry looked up. “Come again?”

“Fuck me, Potter. _Fuck_ me - ”

Harry ignored him and dropped his head down once more, taking a moment to appreciate the irony of thinking he was being cheeky. With a final, wet suck to his arsehole, Harry resurfaced, mouth as pink as the arse he’d just devoured. His fingers, however, took their damn time. Harry groped Malfoy’s arse one last time, determined to leave a mark before he trailed shiver inducing lines up to the backs of his knees, and enjoyed torturing the blond mess below him. “Ah! Ah - _fuck!_ \- Potter _stop_ that - _get in me_.”

“All right then!” Harry shifted back. His cock was slicked by wandless magic, which, hey, maybe Harry hadn’t done enough if Malfoy could still do that. Malfoy clearly had a problem with the hesitation because he took advantage of it to flip them over again, angry red erection prodding Harry in the stomach as he held himself over Harry.

“Are we still fucking here?” Harry blinked, completely confused. “Yeah? Yeah.”

Malfoy nodded, before moving himself over Harry’s cock. “Good.”

When Malfoy had taken him in halfway, Harry had nearly come from staring at the shape of his mouth rounding out, eyes shut in pleasure. He thrust his hips up instinctively, causing Malfoy to fall forward as he forced his way deeper, gritted teeth badly matching the face flushed in barely disguised arousal. “Give me a fucking second, Potter,” he hissed.

Harry ran a hand through the fringe tickling the top of his chest. “‘M sorry - you’re pretty, you know that?” He didn’t know what possessed him to say that, and Malfoy chose to ignore it. Minutes later there they were: Harry’s hips made obscene sounds slapping against his arse as Malfoy was _still_ able to fuck himself down on his cock.

Harry’s eyes had travelled all over Malfoy’s body at that point. The breathy half sobs that pushed out of his mouth had started around the time he’d gotten to Malfoy’s chest. Thank Merlin he’d gotten distracted again by Malfoy’s own reaction to his unexpected moan. It felt too intimate, watching Malfoy’s face go through a fleeting variety of emotions from clear pleasure to fear with Harry looking at him like that. His cock twitched at that.

It was too much. Harry finally got his hand around Malfoy’s cock. Harry gave him a few firm strokes, “Merlin -  you’re so _fucking hot_ \- come for me - ” and thrust up into Malfoy, hard.

“Potter what the _bleeding_ _hell_ \- _uhhhh_ -” Malfoy’s arse clenched around Harry’s cock, and he came with a low sob, cock bobbing as cum mixed in the sweat gathered between their stomachs. Harry came soon after, overcome by the feeling of Malfoy’s body around him and seeing his mouth drop open. “ _FUCK,”_ he shouted, and dug his hands into Malfoy’s thighs.  

Harry flushed under Malfoy’s heated glance after Harry had released him and he’d collapsed to the side of him. He panted into the pillow and Malfoy’s neck before he flipped over to get comfortable.

Malfoy’s eyes were still half lidded, and he looked close to falling asleep, his mouth giving low, tired pants. It was vulnerable - open. Suddenly struck by an urge, Harry moved his arm toward his side dresser in search of leftover sweets. Harry opened a quill with some difficulty, and pressed it to Malfoy’s mouth.

“Wha -” his mouth closed around the tip of the sugar quill and he opened one eye fully with clear judgement forming, “-ah you - wha- the _hell_.”

Harry was fascinated with the quill now. As Malfoy got used to the sweet and actually started sucking on it - he pulled it out. Malfoy’s mouth kept that gorgeous, lax shape for a few dazed seconds before he spoke. “What the fuck, Potter, what kind of kink _is_ this…”

Harry swiped it through the mess on his stomach, a new glint added to the already dripping quill. Harry figured he was already sticky, so why not. Malfoy watched him with a disbelieving look, and his eyes widened when Harry popped the coated sweet in his mouth.

It was bitter as hell for a second and then the sugar hit him. Harry hummed, making sure to draw out a few sloppy licks at the look Malfoy’s face. “That’s - that’s _wow_ Potter you have some weird kinks, don’t you - I mean my god! You don’t even - you’ve never even asked me about - “

He took the quill out and made a mockery of writing something through the mess on Malfoy’s stomach. Malfoy hiccoughed a laugh and shied away from him before continuing, “ - seriously who the hell _does_ this, is this just something you never learned wasn’t appropriate -”  and the sensitivity was yet another thing Harry would have to put aside for later. Mid-rant, Harry stuck the quill back into Malfoy’s mouth.

Malfoy must have impulsively closed his mouth around it, because a second later his face was screwed up in distaste even as he pushed the quill to the side of his mouth. “You’re fucking disgusting, Potter.”

“I’m not the one eating my own spunk off a sugar quill,” Harry murmured.

“You called me pretty,” he threw back.

Harry stared at him like he was an idiot, then nodded at the quill. “You’ve still got it in your mouth, you twat.”

“You licked most of that shit off, thank Merlin, wasting good sugar quills...Who knew you were such a kinky bastard - which reminds me -” Harry tuned him out. His face was flushed and warm. His eyes fluttered shut again, a smile forming on his lips as he listened to Malfoy chatter about nothing. When Harry opened them again, he saw that Malfoy finished the quill. He scooted a bit closer and started kissing him.

Eventually, Malfoy stopped trying to interrupt - he tasted delicious, his tongue coated in something Harry wanted to savour so he kept pressing soft, open mouthed kisses that lasted a second or two. Eventually they were down to light presses, a small bite or two against lips that had chapped in the heat of the room. It was messy, a sweet and mumbling thing that lasted until they fell asleep.

 

\---

 

When Harry woke up, he was plastered to the side of Malfoy and saw that he was staring at the ceiling. “Knut for your thoughts?”

“Hmmm...that - that wasn’t what I was expecting,” Malfoy said. “Still not quite sure what I expected, honestly.”

Harry turned to face Malfoy. It was a weird angle - then again everything about this was weird. “Hmmm...could’ve been nicer, I s’pose...”

“No, if you weren’t an asshole I wouldn’t have be interested.”

Harry nodded. “The fact that you didn’t shut me down immediately was amazing,” he said.

Malfoy shot him a look. “The fact that I didn’t immediately end you, more like.”

“I’d love to see you try - and besides, if you didn’t after I shoved a cum-soaked sugar quill in your mouth -” Harry got shoved off the bed and onto the floor. 

Malfoy’s voice rang out a few seconds later. “Again. I feel gross. Please tell me you have a shower.” Harry snickered.

The effort it took to clean off the sugar was more than worth the soapy handjobs swapped after. That, and the fact that Malfoy was clearly affected by Harry in some way, because he left his hair down around his shoulders afterwards.

“You know - I wasn’t going to say anything earlier, but - ” he trailed a had through Malfoy’s locks, “this is a little wilder than what I remember.”

Harry was so absorbed in playing with it he didn’t see Malfoy’s face. When he paid attention again, all he heard was, “ - stalking me for nearly three years straight,” Malfoy quipped, “and this is the first comment I get about it?”

“I _did_ call you pretty.” He looked up to see Malfoy staring at his hand as if it might bite him.

Malfoy flexed his jaw a couple of times and sucked on his teeth for a moment. “You’re such a bloody - ”

“Seven years of teasing me about _my_ uncontrollable hair - “

“I teased the fact that you never controlled it, not that it was long! Your family fucking inventing _Sleekeasy’s_! ”

“Sure, Malfoy. Whatever you say,” he laughed. Harry waited a few minutes after Malfoy stalked out of the bathroom to let him put his things on. He walked out to see him buttoning his shirt up, trousers and shoes already thrown back on.

Harry waited until Malfoy had closed his shirt and gotten his wand back before asking him if he’d like Harry to get his coat. Malfoy pointed at the door, looking at Harry as if he’d grown another head. “It’s downstairs, Potter. I’m perfectly capable of getting it myself.”

He saw no response that wouldn’t end in a fight, so Harry shrugged and walked him downstairs. Malfoy noticed Ron and Hermione in the sitting room as he was putting his coat on. No one did or said anything, but then again Harry was glaring his housemates down from over his shoulder.

Harry watched as Malfoy seemed to weigh being caught outside his house, his face tight as a series of emotions flashed across it before settling on something Harry could not place. But whatever it was sat there as Draco considered him. “...right. See you later, Potter.” He turned, “Weasleys.” With a turn, Malfoy Apparated out of Grimmauld place.

He had stared at the spot where Malfoy had just been until someone cleared their throat. Harry looked up to see Hermione pointing a quill at him. “You know, we would have completely understood if you had just told us you were gay, but _that_ ? What was _that_?”

“I’m not sure, really.” He leaned against the doorway. “More fun than I’ve had in years? The best sexual experience of my life?” At Hermione’s look of disbelief and Ron’s tired sigh, he continued. “Either way, I’m in the mood for some takeout. What do you two want - Chinese? Italian?”

Harry had thought the excitement had initially come from the sugar quills. He was dead wrong.

 

* * *

 

Some months later Harry finally dragged Draco along to a game night. He regretted the decision the second Draco had pulled out a sugar quill when he’d sat down to be dealt in. His was just about to lose his mind watching him suck on it out of the corner of his eye when Hermione lost.

“Did you ever figure out what Ron was doing, making Luna do that weird thing at game night a few weeks ago?” Hermione asked him after she’d thrown her hand down in defeat. She sipped from her drink happily, even if her face said she’d take Dean down later on.

Harry shrugged. “Not really, no - I mean, I understood the quill almost immediately, but then again he was just being an arse.”

Luna’s head shot up and, really, the clanging from all the necklaces and jewelry she had on were something else. “Hermione you can’t tell me _you_ honestly haven’t figured it out yet?” Harry coughed and hunched in on himself, keen to avoid whatever fight came out of that comment.

Draco was sitting across from Luna, quill in his mouth as he stared at the game in front of him. Dean had dealt a combination of a 7, 3, and 8. He was still debating the chances of winning when Luna suddenly appeared by his side. After a moment Draco realized she was there for something.

“Yes? I thought you already lost, Lovegood.” He looked at Harry for help and found nothing but a coy shrug. That, in combination with the look Granger was giving him meant something bad, he was sure of it.

“Oh I did, I just wanted to try something - ” and before Draco could properly ask what on earth she was doing, her hands were in his hair and pulling away at the messy half-bun he’d constructed. Draco stayed frozen in place, completely aware of every set of eyes suddenly on him. “...um…” Thomas flipped over his next card almost accidentally, and Draco forgot it momentarily.

Alongside one another, neither appeared particularly peculiar to Harry - he’d certainly seen Draco with his hair down even if no one else at the table had.

Harry had figured out what Ron had been up to almost immediately after feeling the shock reaction that night. It had felt wrong - associating anything like that with Luna was beyond strange for Harry - but he’d figured out fast enough it wasn’t just a thing for blonds.

Hermione glared at Ron when he started to laugh at everyone’s reactions.

“What does Lovegood’s lack of respect for personal space have to do with Weasley’s failure?” Wonders never cease that even winning didn’t hold a candle to Draco’s ability to point out his best friends’ faults. Hermione clearly hesitated with responding to Draco, but - “Ron just never learned to quit interfering in Harry’s love life.”

“Pot calling the kettle black!” Ron got a cookie to the face for his comment. He easily bit the cookie in half. “Ron, you’re a terrible human being.” Draco only barely managed to hide his amusement.

“What, Lovegood, are you suddenly competition now?”

“No, everyone was just made aware of a certain incident that happened and the lengths to which Ron will torture his friends.” Draco looked between the two of them, unblinking. “That, and apparently Harry has a thing for sugar quills. A sexual thing.” Draco choked, laughter pouring out of him as he watched Harry turn a brilliant shade of pink.

“Oh, Harry has a _thing_ , alright,” Draco said, opening his mouth ever so slightly and twirling said thing around with his tongue, “some might even call it a fetish. Would you like to hear more?” He leaned over the green fabric and outright leered at him. Harry wanted to steal the damn thing away.

“Please leave. Get a room. Whatever it is, don’t do it on my poker table,” Dean said.

Draco smiled at him sweetly. “You ever wonder how that bunched up bit on the left corner there happened, Thomas?” Everyone but Harry pushed away from their respective seats, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Harry was beginning to understand why he’d stayed under an Invisibility Cloak around him for so long. Draco was positively shameless if it meant he’d get one over on someone. On any other occasion the prat was a right Secret Keeper of their sex lives.

As he drew back and threw down his hand in a sharp cry of victory against Dean, Draco looked the same as ever to Harry. But now, there was something in his eyes that made Harry’s heart melt quick as the sugar between his lips. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](https://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/143556.html).


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